Beyond the Requiems 



Louis Alexander Robertson 





Class y^'6SlS_ 

Book .PjsBt 

Copyright N° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



Beyond the Requiems 

And Other Verses 



Beyond the Requiems 

And Other Verses 



By 
Louis Alexander Robertson 



AUTHOR OF 
THE DEAD CALYPSO' 
AND OTHER VERSES 



') ' J » J ) 



A. M. ROBERTSON 

SAN FRANCISCO 

1902 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CO N« HESS, 

T,yO CUHU; KfcCUVED 

NOV fV 't^O? 

CLASaC^^XXc No. 
COPY B. 






COPYRIGHT, 1902 

BY 

LOUIS A, ROBERTSON 



• • • • *•• • ••• ••• a - > 

***** «*€**• • • •** 



The Murdock Press 
San Francisco 



TO CHARLES JOSSELYN 



CONTENTS 



PROEM : THE SHRINE OF SONG 

BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

VERSES TO GEORGE T, BROMLEY 

THE SUNBEAM 

A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

let's KISS A KISS . 

DREAM SONG 

GIVE ME THY LIPS 

THE ROSE 

ABANDONED 

REPARATION 

THE DREAM . 

AFTERGLOW 

STOLEN WATERS 

LOVE LAUGHING LOW 

THE TWILIGHT HOUR 

THE TELLTALE MARKS 

THE CRIMSONED GIFT 

LUST*S TIGER-TEETH 

THE PUNCH-BOWL . 

TO MARIANA 

PROMETHEUS 

THE VANISHED VINTAGE 

A WITHERED SHEAF 



PACK 

9 

23 

29 

30 
40 

41 

43 
44 
47 
49 
52 
53 
54 
55 
56 
57 
58 

59 
60 
61 
62 
63 
65 



PROEM 

THE SHRINE OF SONG 

In mute amazement oft I pause before 

The portals of Song s shrine and list to those 
Whose music from its classic cloisters flows 

A down the tide of Time for evermore, 

I see the place that no man may explore^ 

Save him whose Art its life to Genius owes^ 
On whose rapt lips the sacred cinder glows 

That teaches Songs sweet shibboleth and lore. 

Ah, it were heaven to enter in and kneel 
In some dim aisle, unnoticed and apart. 

With thirsting soul to drink the sounds that 
shame 
My songs to silence; then to rise and feel 
That my untutored lips had learnt the art 

That seats the singer in the House of Fame I 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

Not in cataclysmal chaos, earthquake, fire, or 

flood, or blast. 
Waits the world to hear the summons calling her 

to death at last. 

Oft she hears a muttered menace, sees the ghastly 

lightnings gleam. 
And the slumbering volcano vomit forth its lethal 

stream ; 

Oft she sees the wind-whipped waters leaping to 

the sullen skies. 
And the foaming tidal terror in its deadly might 

arise ; 

II 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

But still deaf to all the dirges that have rolled 

above her dead. 
And the songs that stir the living, she has ever 

onward sped. 

As when first a vagrant vapor thrown from off the 

glowing breast 
Of her mighty parent planet, up the shining 

pathway pressed, 

Lifeless, nebulous, and naked, save the vesture 

that was drawn 
Round her like a misty mantle as she speeded to 

the dawn. 

Who can guess the Force that flung her out upon 

the star-strown deep. 
Clasped her cloudy cincture round her, taught her 

how her course to keep 

12 



I 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

Through the vast uncharted regions, — orbed her, 

shaped her, round her flung 
Icy bands and frozen fetters that for aeons to her 

clung ? 

Long she drifted through the darkness, but at 

last the Word was heard, 
And the cold, insensate sleeper to the wakening 

message stirred; 

Felt the quickening breath that melted frozen 

field and moor and main. 
Drank the draught of saving sunlight, lost the 

winter-woven chain; 

Grew in grandeur and in beauty, soaring to the 

noonday height, 
Till the mighty Hand that hurled her out upon 

the cosmic night 

13 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

Draws her back to death and darkness, shrouds 

her in her ice once more, 
Stripped of all her garnered glory, all her science, 

song, and lore. 

There shall be no eye to see it, — life shall 

long have left the earth, 
When she reels a dying planet to the breast that 

gave her birth. 

All our knowledge is as nothing; Reason reels 

and Science sneers, 
Faith before her falling altars lifts her fearless 

face and hears 

Every cherished creed derided, but still mumbles 

to her beads. 
Dreaming that beyond the requiems deathless life 

to death succeeds. 

14 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

Hope's pale star still smiles above us, distant, 

indistinct, and cold ; 
As the primal moth beheld it do we now its 

beams behold. 

Are we nearer than the nascent life that slum- 
bered in the slime. 

When the protoplasmic moner scanned the steeps 
that it must climb? 

Or the microcosmic atom, ere its fetters left it 

free ? 
Or the blind bathybius sleeping at the bottom of 

the sea? 

Yea, the germ, primordial, potent, saw the goal 

that it must gain, 
Found a hovel in man's body, built a palace in 

his brain. 

15 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

And the selfsame seeds that wakened with it in 

earth's virgin womb 
Fill the fields with fragrant blossoms, or in 

poisoned petals bloom; 

Make the wilderness grow vocal with the voice 

of bird and brute. 
Send the great Sequoia skyward, gnaw in cankers 

at its root; 

Never swerving from the settled purpose of the 
primal plan. 

Save when planted in the passions and the burn- 
ing brain of man; 

There, oft glorious, often ghastly, oft degraded, 

oft divine. 
Sometimes soaring to the stars, and sometimes 

wallowing with the swine ; 
i6 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

Always out of tune with Nature ; is the human 

brute the best ? 
Fated to the thralling thirst that burns forever in 

his breast, 

That hath ever urged us onward o'er life's sterile 
sands, till we — 

Rich in knowledge, rich in wisdom, panting for- 
ward — ever see 

Silent and untrodden regions over which the 

mirage beams. 
But its tempting trees and waters murmur only 

in our dreams. 

They have murmured unto myriads and beguiled 

them in the past; 
They will call through coming ages long as life 

on earth shall last. 

17 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

When she hurries through the spaces on to where 

the peril hides, 
As some bark on her own bosom sails through 

tranquil tropic tides. 

Freighted full with costly treasures, till at last a 

brisker breeze 
Drives her from the summer ocean into dark and 

winter seas. 

Where the icy currents clasp her, and the frozen 

mists overwhelm 
With their adamantine shackles mast and sail and 

hull and helm, 

And the bark becomes the coffin of her dying 

crew who gaze 
On some spectre sail that mocks them as it passes 

in the haze. 

i8 



i 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

So the life that lingers latest on this planet still 

will yearn 
For the peace the world denies it, yea, though it 

again return 

To the lowest type that sheltered in its breast 

Hope's latent spark, 
And then fanned it to the fatuous flame that lures 

us through the dark. 

All our philosophic pedants, all our sons of 

Science know 
Not a whit more than that dullard knew a million 

years ago. 

As to where the spirit wanders when the body 

sinks in death. 
For beyond the grave's black portals never man 

has breathed one breath. 

19 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

We have probed the past and hunted in its deep- 
est, darkest cells, 

But the secret still eludes us, never by one whis- 
per tells 

Whence Life drew its first faint tremor, for it 
was not born of naught; 

Never seed spontaneous blossoms till the quick- 
ening breath be brought. 

As we know not the beginning, so we may not 

know the end. 
But as life from life first started, back through 

death to life 't will wend. 

Now and then some guide arises who would turn 

us from our path 
With sweet promises that please us, or with 

threats of future wrath. 

20 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

We have listened to His lessons, heard the 

Nazarene's behest, — 
" Follow me, my way-worn children ; I alone can 

give ye rest." 

We have wondered, as we hearkened unto Bud- 
dha's pleading voice. 

If to find the peace men long for they could make 
a wiser choice. 

We have seen the swarthy Arab step athwart our 

path and say, 
"Ye shall drink the living waters if my precepts 

ye obey." 

We have searched the stars above us for the 

secret, but no beam 
Lights our darkened path to guide us to the goal 

of which we dream. 

21 



BEYOND THE REQUIEMS 

Little help or hope we gather from the annals 

of the past, 
All its poets, priests, and sages, all the wisdom 

which they massed, 

All its fables, faiths, and fictions, all its temples, 
triumphs, tomes. 

Tell us nothing of the region where the flesh- 
freed spirit roams. 



22 



VERSES 

READ AT A BANQUET GIVEN BY THE BOHEMIAN CLUB, 

SAN FRANCISCO, TO GEORGE T. BROMLEY, ON 

HIS EIGHTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY 

Time's record shows, when closely conned, 

Fair women and brave men 
Who loved and laughed long years beyond 

The Psalmist's three-score-ten: 
With added age they seemed to thrive. 

And did their youth renew ; 
The God who keeps the saint alive 

Preserves the sinner too. 



23 



VERSES 

We bar the patriarchs who trod 

The earth before the flood, 
And Mammon's selfish sons who plod 

Through life with stagnant blood. 
Sainted or sordid never feel 

The pulse with rapture rife, 
When Hebe's rich red lips reveal 

The lore that lengthens life. 



That secret murmured in the breeze 

That kissed the crested tide 
When Cytherea trod the seas, 

And it has never died; 
To Dionysus it was told. 

And in his flagon flushed 
When from the purple grapes of old 

Its meaning first was crushed. 



24 



VERSES 

It taught the Teian till he laughed 

At Chronos* dismal chime; 
It rippled from the cup he quaffed 

In many a glowing rhyme: 
Venus and Bacchus — at each shrine 

He worshiped oft and long, 
Saw Beauty blushing in the wine 

And crowned her with a song. 



It makes the heart beat wild and warm 

In many a snowy breast; 
Ninon de Lenclos and Delorme 

Were courted and caressed 
When nigh a hundred years had passed 

In revel and romance; 
They held in homage till the last 

The royal rakes of France. 



25 



VERSES 

Why ponder over pagan creed, 

Or Epicurus* cult, 
Or in Time's rusty roster read. 

Or Pleasure's page consult. 
When in the living flesh we see. 

Lusty and all alive, 
One who has climbed the years till he 

Sits throned on Eighty-five. 



Bohemia's bards his triumphs sing. 

Her sons and sages raise 
Their voices till the rafters ring 

And echo back his praise; 
They love the Genius of their joys, 

The Master of their mirth, — 
Mirth that no malice e'er alloys, 

And Wit with Wisdom's worth, — 



26 



VERSES 

Their King of revels who can drive 

Their grief and gloom away, 
Their Priest of pleasure who can shrive 

Their thirsting souls next day. 
Hesper may herald in the feast, 

The glasses clink and foam 
Till Eos blushes in the east. 

And all have wandered home ; 



Then, fresh as one whose night has passed 

In slumber till the dawn. 
He '11 linger on until the last 

Bold bacchanal has gone. 
He proves that Pleasure's cup may bring 

A blessing, not a blight; 
For him it holds no adder's sting. 

But Life's elixir bright. 



27 



VERSES 

And so he laughs at Time, who lays 

On him the lightest load; 
And when in Pleasure's path he strays, 

He finds few thorns to goad. 
His is the best philosophy, — 

The wisdom that outwears 
All other creeds, — and we shall see 

Him live a hundred years. 



Now let the jest and laughter lull. 

The glasses cease to clink ; 
The Owl who sits on Sorrow's skull 

Gives you this toast to drink : 
"We Ve seen him turn night into day, 

December into June, — 
May the Lord love him long, we say. 

Nor call for him too soon." 



28 



THE SUNBEAM 

Through skies all overcast 

The sun shone clear. 
When tears were falling fast, 
Through skies all overcast 
A beam broke through at last, 

Dispelling fear. 
Through skies all overcast 
The sun shone clear. 



29 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

To the regions where the righteous dwell in ever- 
lasting peace, 
To the House of Many Mansions in the skies, 
Where the Halls of Heaven echo to the songs 
that never cease. 
And the dawnless day in darkness never dies; 
Where the prophets, priests, and martyrs, and the 
saved and sainted stray 
Through the streets of gold that like to crystal 
gleam, 
Once my spirit in a slumber burst the shackles 
of the clay. 
And I passed the gates of heaven in a dream. 
30 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

There I saw the shining city with its walls of 
precious stone, — 
Jasper, jacinth, amethyst, and chrysolite, — 
And the crystal river ever flowing forth beneath 
the throne. 
And the trees whose leaves are balm for every 
blight; 
Heard the clear celestial chorus and the never- 
ending hymn. 
And the harps that never know a tuneless 
chord ; 
Saw the princely six-winged angels and the shining 
seraphim 
Hide their faces as they bent before the Lord. 



Like the sands upon the seashore, or the stars 
that gem the sky, 
Did that multitude exceed all human count; 
31 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

There the vilest who find mercy when the last 
dark hour is nigh. 
As the thief who hung beside Him on the 
mount. 
Stand with legions of the chosen, gleaned from 
every clime and creed. 
With a pardon purchased by the Paraclete : 
Some by faith oft find salvation, and some gain it 
by a deed. 
Like the woman of the town who kissed His 
feet. 

There I saw her, and saw many who like her had 
loved and erred. 
And among them one who had from childhood 
grown 
Like a pure and peerless lily, till the serpent's 
hiss she heard 
In the flowers that along her path were strown. 
32 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

Then she rose like her of Corinth, — for her fault- 
less form and face 
Made sin seem a thing to worship and to 
bless; 
She was wooed by Wit and Wisdom, Rank and 
Wealth sought her embrace. 
And men journeyed from afar for her caress. 

Much I marveled as I saw her, and I bade her 
tell me how 
She had washed her scarlet raiment into white; 
How she stood among the ransomed with a halo 
on her brow. 
How her sinful soul had reached that realm of 
light. 
As she turned and looked upon me, from her lips 
the story came 
Of the sacred spark that sometimes smoulder- 
ing lies 

33 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

Deep in sin, then like a phoenix through the 
ashen heaps of shame 
Bursts in beauty and on wings of mercy 
flies. 

" It was Christmas Eve/' she told me, " and the 
night was wild and cold ; 
I was speeding through the darkness unto 
one 
Whom I loved, — not for his bounty, though he 
gave me gems and gold; 
But there is no word in Love's long lexicon 
That can tell the burning torture of the thirst 
that often craves 
In the hearts of hapless women who are 
thrown 
Like to waifs upon the waters, but at last across 
the waves 
See the saving sail of rescue to them blown. 
34 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

" Thus my soul was thirsting for him, and my 
heart began to beat 
With the hope that he would call me wife at 
last, 
When I looked and saw a woman crouching in a 
darkened street. 
And I heard her moan with anguish as I 
passed. 
As f'^I heard that wail of sorrow, quick from 
pleasure's path I turned 
And soon bent above the sufferer where she lay; 
She was faint with pain and hunger, and I saw 
that she had learned 
The dark lesson of the love that leads astray. 

" Little cared I for the Levites that passed on the 
other side, 
Or for those who quickly gathered round me 
there: 

35 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

I, a sinner, turned Samaritan and helped her 
when she cried. 
As God heard, ere many days, my own last 
prayer. 

Then I flung my robe around her, took her 
home, and she was laid 
On my bed, by which I watched her until 
morn; 
As the cold gray dawn of Christmas o'er her 
pallid features strayed. 
On a sinner's couch a sinless soul was born. 

" With her child upon her bosom soon in sleep I 
saw her lie. 
Then outworn I sank in slumber there by 
them; 
Soon 1 heard an angel chorus rolling through 
the winter sky, — 
'T was the herald hymn they heard in Bethle- 
hem; 

36 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

Then my dreaming senses drifted through the 
years unto the time 
Of my girlhood and the place where I was 
born. 
And in my dreams I fancied that I heard again 
the chime 
I had often listened to on Christmas morn. 

" Once again within the little village church I 
seemed to kneel. 
Once again the blessed anthem seemed to 
hear. 
And a peace that passeth telling o*er my spirit 
then did steal. 
And I woke and saw God's saving purpose 
clear. 
Though 't was He who called my soul from sin 
unto salvation when 
The young sufferer cried tome, I knew it not; 
37 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

It was woman unto woman, sinner unto sinner 
then, — 
'T was the sympathy by impulse oft begot. 

" But ere many days the icy darts, which first I 
did not feel 
When I gave my cloak to shield her from the 
blast, 
Were soon burning in my bosom, and I saw the 
Spoiler steal 
Through the gloom and stand beside my couch 
at last. 
Then the lips that Sin had silenced unto prayer 
began to plead 
For forgiveness as life swiftly ebbed away ; 
Then I cried aloud for mercy in my souFs 
extremest need, 
And I heard a voice these words of comfort 
say: — 

38 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

" ' I was sick and I was hungry, I was naked, and 
ye came 
In my misery and ministered to me; 
Inasmuch as you have done it to this woman 
you may claim 
The salvation that from sin shall set you free/ 
Then the gloom began to gather, but a Hand in 
mine I felt 
As my spirit through the shades of darkness 
passed, 
But soon woke and saw the shadows in a death- 
less glory melt. 
And beheld my Saviour face to face at last." 



39 



LET'S KISS A KISS 

Let 's kiss a kiss and vow a vow 

And lightly laugh at far-ofF years ; 
Ere yet beneath their weight we bow. 
Let 's kiss a kiss and vow a vow 
That age shall find us then as now 

Linked by a love that never fears. 
Let 's kiss a kiss and vow a vow 
And lightly laugh at far-off years. 



40 



DREAM SONG 

Though far away, my spirit wings 

Its constant flight to thee; 
My eyelids close, the captive springs 

Exulting to be free. 
Unstayed by mountain, stream, or plain. 

Unheeding time or space. 
In dreams I hear thy voice again 

And look upon thy face. 

Far, far away where fields are green. 

And flowers spring fresh and fair; 
Where in the distant heavens, unseen. 

The lark sings loud and clear; 
Where murmuring streams in music glide 

To some far summer sea, 
I wander happy at thy side, 

In golden dreams of thee. 
41 



DREAM SONG 

I dreamt one night that heart to heart 

At last we stood confessed ; 
United, never more to part, 

I drew thee to my breast 
And kissed away the happy tears, 

For in thy love-lit eyes 
I saw an answer to my prayers, 

And heard it in thy sighs. 

When heaven with rosy dawn is flushed. 

Then stars of midnight pale. 
As every other song is hushed 

When wakes the nightingale. 
So when I meet thee face to face. 

As night before the day. 
Forgotten in thy close embrace. 

The dream will fade away. 



42 



GIVE ME THY LIPS 

Give me thy lips, and let me feel 

That they forgiveness grant 
For much that these poor rhymes reveal. 
Give me thy lips, and let me feel 
The raptures that once made me reel, 

That through my verses pant. 
Give me thy lips, and let me feel 

That they forgiveness grant. 



43 



THE ROSE 

When to my lips this rose I pressed 

Life with new beauty seemed to glow. 
A love that slumbered in my breast, 
When to my lips this rose I pressed, 
Leaped back to life, and I confessed 
The pledge I gave thee long ago. 
When to my lips this rose I pressed 
Life with new beauty seemed to glow. 

When first our fervid troth was told 

I gave it to thee with a vow. 
Shall I forget that night of old, 
When first our fervid troth was told. 
And when I swore that it should hold 
Me true to thee ? It holds me now. 
When first our fervid troth was told 
I gave it to thee with a vow. 
44 



THE ROSE 

And now it comes in after years, 
Its scent and color gone with age, 

Wet with Faith*s timid, trustful tears. 

And now it comes in after years. 

And cries aloud to love that hears 
And hastens to redeem the gage. 

And now it comes in after years. 
Its scent and color gone with age. 



And back to where I met thee first 

This faded flower my memory bears ; 
All doubts of thee it hath dispersed. 
And back to where I met thee first 
I speed with every sense athirst, — 

My soul the sacred summons hears, 
And back to where I met thee first 
This faded flower my memory bears. 

45 



THE ROSE 

I see the love-light in thine eyes, 

I listen to thy murmurs low, 
I drink the rapture of thy sighs ; 
I see the love-light in thine eyes. 
And oh ! I see the tears that rise. 

And curse the fate that made them flow. 
I see the love-light in thine eyes. 

And listen to thy murmurs low. 



The lips I loved may now be pale. 
But what is that, dear one, to me ? 

Time's touch will make the fairest fail. 

The lips I loved may now be pale. 

But through the gloom I hear them wail. 
And haste across the years to thee. 

The lips I loved may now be pale. 
But what is that, dear one, to me ? 



46 



ABANDONED 

Ah, breaking, anxious heart 

And streaming eyes ! 
Pale, quivering lips that part 

With weary sighs ! 
Cheeks once like summer dawn^ 

Rosy and fair. 
Where have the roses gone 

That once were there? 

The wrecking winds that sweep 

Along the sea 
Are likelier far to weep 

Than he for thee ; 
For when upon the shore 

Their victims lie. 
They rave and howl no more, 

But seem to sigh. 
47 



ABANDONED 

But the soft, treacherous breeze 

That lured and fanned 
Thy bark o'er unknown seas 

And far from land 
Fled when the daylight died, 

And left thee there, 
A waif upon the tide 

Of dark despair. 

No wind to fill thy sail 

With freshening breath; 
To drift without avail 

To silent death; 
To gaze across the main 

To Life's fair shore ; 
To stretch thy hands in vain 

For evermore. 



48 



REPARATION 

Dear one, hath the fate that flung thee to me, 
fair and young, and timid and untried. 

Brought thee back in after years to curse me for 
the love I then to thee denied ? 

Lo ! the maiden who in lovers first fervor gave 
me all her young impassioned trust 

From the ashes of the years arises, like a phoenix 
soaring from the dust. 

Comes she through the Past's pale mists to mock 
me with the lips whose virgin sighs I 
drained ? 

Nay, her eyes have in them no reproaches, though 
for me their saddest floods have rained. 
49 



REPARATION 

Can it be that thou. Imperious Beauty, schooled 
and skilled in all the Lesbian lore. 

Art the timid and untutored novice who my 
truant troth did oft deplore, 

When in morbid mood or thoughtless moment, 
I, perchance, too carelessly would chide 

Some sweet whispered undertone of passion, or 
with skeptic coldness turn aside. 

Blighting in the blossom all the beauty of the 
flower of love that might have grown 

Through the years with Faith's unfading fra- 
grance, but with heedless hand away was 
thrown ? 

All that Fancy's fondest dreams can compass I 
would give could I again behold 

In thine eyes the nascent love-light beaming, as 
I Ve often seen it there of old. 
50 



REPARATION 

Ah, but Fate is full of rich reprisals, and at last 

I falter at thy feet, 
For the years have hoarded up a vengeance, and 

thy reparation is complete. 

Ask the tremor that enthralled my pulses! It will 
tell thee how with joy they played 

When I clasped again thy glowing beauty and my 
hungering lips on thine were laid. 

And I heard thee murmur, " Take me ! take 
me !" as I pleaded in thy close caress 

That thy love might leap to life and crown me, 
and in one soul-yielding sigh confess: 

Then I felt thee thrill with peerless passion, more 
than ever shook thy girlish frame. 

And Love's smouldering coals again were kin- 
dled, for my lips had fanned them to a 
flame. 

51 



THE DREAM 

On thy white breast that mocks the snow 

Once in a dreaming hour I leaned; 
I felt thy placid pulses glow 

As from thy melting mouth I gleaned 
The rosy raptures that eclipse 

The joys that waking wooers know. 
And then I laid my fervid lips 

On thy white breast that mocks the snow. 

Oh, how thy heart responsive beat 

With new-born passion's blinding bliss 
That calmed the conscience that would cheat 

And chide thee from that glowing kiss ! 
O clinging limbs ! O yielding breast ! 

O lips unlessoned, yet replete 
With passion, yearning to be pressed! 

Oh, how thy heart responsive beat! 

52 



AFTERGLOW 

Like the base Indian who threw a pearl 

Richer than all his tribe away, then moaned 
His folly when it could not be atoned. 

So long ago in bhndness did I hurl 

The treasure of thy love into the whirl 

Of the wild waves of passion, and disowned 

The heart thou gavest to me as a girl, 

Where now 't were heaven to be again en- 
throned. 

But Fate that flouts at Faith and laughs at Love, 

That made thee wing thy way above the vast 

Wild waters where thy first fond hopes were 

drowned. 

Hath brought thee back, like to the fabled dove. 

To linger for a little, if at last 

To spread thy wings and nevermore be 

found. 

53 



STOLEN WATERS 

I WONDER if the stolen waters, dear. 

That seem so sweet their sweetness will retain ? 

May never tear fall in them to profane 
Or turn them into gall. As yet their clear 
And low melodious murmurings we hear, 

And never yet methinks was sweeter strain; 
Lovers thirsting thieves are we who know no fear. 

The while with languished lips the fount we 
drain. 

As well preach to the wanderer who sinks, 
Smit by the sun, upon the desert waste. 
Then wakes to find the cooling oasis, — 
As well tell him the saving draught he drinks 
Is stolen waters that he should not taste. 
As bid me, dear one, to forego thy kiss. 

54 



LOVE LAUGHING LOW 

Love laughing low, unmindful of its fate, 

And Sin that often sighs but sheds no tear. 

Sin ! Nay, the myrtle wreath Love offers, dear. 
Is better than the buds that desecrate 
The bride's fair brow when priest begins to prate 

The loveless links that gall from year to year. 

How fast the feeble fetters disappear 
When the lone heart leaps to its longed-for mate ! 

What bond can bind the blood at rest to keep 
Within a placid pool, and see one face 

Glassed ever on its surface night and day. 

When like a torrent it was wont to leap 

And on in unrestricted freedom race 

To clasp the waves that waited far away ? 
LofCJ 

55 



THE TWILIGHT HOUR 

Some say the flesh when freed from every stain 
And worn with fast, of carnal joys denied. 
Can loose the soul and leave it free to glide 

O'er countless leagues of land and miles of main, 

And sweet communion with some far one gain. 
These fond fanatics I may not deride. 

Since, loaded heavy with love's fettering chain. 
Through space I swiftly sweep and reach thy 
side; 

Or with the subtle skill and conjuring lore. 

Learnt of thy lips, my senses have the power 

To summon thee when day begins to fade. 

'Tis twilight; ere the lights are lit, once more 

Speed unto me 1 Yea, 'tis the very hour 

When last these lonely lips on thine were 

laid. 

56 



i 



THE TELLTALE MARKS 

I DREAMT one night that I beheld thee dead ; 

The Spoiler scarce had stolen thy breath away 

When I bent over thy beloved clay 
Speechless and tearless with a nameless dread. 
Soon all thy pallid flesh from heel to head 

Passion's empurpled lip-prints did display ; 

Unnumbered ghosts of bygone loves were they. 
Thy pale lips moved, and this is what they said : 

Thou didst believe me true, but my false heart 
Was traitor to thee, and I did conceal 

My shame for many years, but now my art 
Availeth not, — these telltale marks reveal 

Each one a guilty love — No more ! I cried. 

And woke to find thee sleeping at my side. 



57 



THE CRIMSONED GIFT 

If I thy naked spirit could behold, 
As oft thy classic comeliness I Ve seen 
Garbed only in its beauty, — and I ween 

That Fate to few e'er gave a fairer mould, — 

I wonder what the vision would unfold ! 

Thy flesh, though fair, enshrines a soul whose 
sheen 

Is radiant too, and though by love controlled. 
Love is forgiven, — remember Magdalene. 

Or if thy heart within my hand were laid. 

Brought bleeding to me from thy white, wan 

breast. 

And every ruddy drop were voluble 

To answer me ; with faith and unafraid, 

Fd kiss the crimsoned gift, though it confessed 

That which in life it lacked the strength to 

tell. 

58 



LUST'S TIGER -TEETH 

But till thy heart is mine and mine is thine, 

All passion will be pale 'twixt thee and me. 

Compare it now with what it then would be? 
That were to liken water unto wine 1 
Though thou art fair as she who from the brine 

Of that enchanted Cytherean sea 
In beauty rose, yet till our souls combine 

Our passion-prompted vows are perjury. 

The brute within the blood may ramp and rave, 

Or fawn and fondle till the trembling tone 

Of love's soft sigh is counterfeited well; 

But 'tis the flesh that for the flesh doth crave — 

Lust's tiger-teeth that tear us to the bone, 

To leave us at the last in living hell. 



59 



THE PUNCH -BOWL 

Ye jovial wassailers who drink 
To Hebe in this brimming bowl. 

To-night her beauty makes ye blink. 

Ye jovial wassailers who drink. 

To-morrow, maybe, ye will think 

That midnight mirth means morning dole, 

Ye jovial wassailers who drink 
To Hebe in this brimming bowl. 



60 



TO MARIANA 

Thou knowest well that these poor lays 

Will be forgot in after days. 

For me there waits no wreath of Fame, 
No false ambition bids me claim 

One leaf of Art's enduring bays. 

And yet if haply Time should praise 
What now Indifference lightly weighs, 
Then with my lines I 'd link thy name. 
Thou knowest well. 

Far fairer work than this decays. 
Or sinks into Oblivion's haze. 

Yea, often doth the star-flashed flame 
Of Genius glow on lips that frame 
Lines that are lost. Fate oft betrays, 
Thou knowest well. 
6i 



PROMETHEUS. 

Better to battle with these birds of pain, 

As I have done through many a day and night, 
Than let them wing their way into my brain 

And with their pinions beat out Reason*s light; 

For in the darkness of that hour I might 
Shake from my soul the links in which I Ve lain 
These many years; yea, better to remain 

Bound to my rock and let these vultures bite 
Each nerve to numbness. Better that the clay 

Should wait for death on this hard, rocky bed, 
Than that a madman's hand should send 
the soul 
Soiled with a suicidal stain to stray 

Ever in outer darkness, for 't is said 
Such hapless spirits never find a goal. 



62 



THE VANISHED VINTAGE 

When the hopes that we cherish, the dreams that 
we dream, 

And the joys that defraud us are dead; 
When the Past only mocks us, and never a beam 

From the close-curtained Future is shed; 
When we falter and fall as we grope in the gloom, 

And our feet with the thistles are torn. 
When the cankers of Conscience begin to con- 
sume. 

Do we over our misery mourn? 

Yea, we weep as we think of the vintage we 
crushed 
From the rich, ruddy grapes of the Past ; 
And we dream in the dark of the faces that 
flushed 
With a beauty that mocked at the blast: 
63 



THE VANISHED VINTAGE 

Through the long lonely night and the desolate 
day, 
When our folly and fate we deplore, 
Oft the ghosts of dead pleasures stalk by us and 
say. 
If you could you would do as before. 



64 



A WITHERED SHEAF 

Poor anguished heart and soul, in sadness dressed, 
Reaping with Sorrow's sickle happier years. 

Thy grief-gleaned memories are at the best 
A withered sheaf — an aftermath of tears. 



65 



Some Press Notices of 
The Dead Calypso^ and Other Verses. 



The work opens with a challenging call to that once 
fascinating goddess, and in a metre almost as seductive as the 
smiles of the siren it taunts. The book is full of good verse. 
Mr. Robertson is a poet, and the West is the better for him. — 
Chicago Record-Herald. 

The melody of the verse is as notable as the w^armth of its 
fancy. — ISlezu York Times. 

The book has fire and grit in it. It has also much tenderness 
and sadness. It runs the gamut from the most spiritual aspira- 
tion to the rage of desire defeated in satiation. In the matter 
of form all the verses are exquisitely done. In the matter of 
feeling the intensity is poignant. Always the song has color to 
it, has blood and bone and flesh woven through it. Mr. 
Robertson is a lover of the sonnet, and his book contains a 
dozen poems in that form that are of exquisite workmanship. — 
St. Louis Mirror. 

There are poems in this volume of noble range. Robertson 
is certainly a purist, and has a thorough knowledge of the 
technique of poetry. He is never guilty of a false quantity, nor 
does he ever lower the tone from its original setting. His work 
has received recognition in the East and in England, and there 
is an increasing demand there for the work of this extraordinary 
Californian poet. — San Francisco Evening Post. 



Mr. Robertson's lines reveal the faculty of making the old 
mythology real. Like Keats, he fuses his thought into an 
imaginative glow that makes the fables of Greece and Rome Hve 
again for us of these prosaic days. Those who feel the sway of 
his passion will recognize the hand of a master. — San Francisco 
Chronicle. 

His verses show the hand of a man of great literary attain- 
ments; a man whose mentality has been cultivated to the highest 
pitch, and yet whose soul is, and ever has been, the soul of a 
born poet. In expression and form Mr. Robertson's verses are 
in themselves perfect; yet this mechanical excellence, if we may 
so express it, attracts no attention to itself. The Hnes run so 
smoothly and the thoughts are so beautifully expressed, that it is 
the intent of the poetry, and not its form, that makes the lasting 
impression on the reader's mind. — San Francisco Call. 

The personal note is dominant in Mr. Robertson's verse. 
The beauty of the lines is most often that of the poHshed and 
engraved gem, yet his thought moves freely and gives no hint of 
fetters. — San Francisco Argonaut. 

In this book there are verses that thrill the senses and stir the 
blood and awake one's enthusiasm and cause one to read and 
re-read. There are lines that impress one with their beauty as 
a faultless piece of statuary would impress one, and there are 
some that cut the air like the swing of a flaming scimitar. His 
songs come to us in many strains, and through the sob of las- 
civious music and the flow of forbidden wine there steals the 
echo of the swelling choir and the impressive cadence of the 
cathedral hymn chanted in a key that harmonizes with the "dim 
religious lights." — San Francisco News Letter. 

His lines oft glow in brilliant pictures. They unfold grand 
scenes; tableau after tableau presents itself in brilliant, pulsating 
coloring. This is particularly true of the poem ** The Dead 
Calypso." There is a sonorous ring to this verse. The 



scenes painted in it are the work of a master of the English 
language. Not a word that does not express full meaning; 
not a word that could be improved by a substitute, and for 
this, apart from the poetic qualities of Mr. Robertson's writings, 
admiration is his just due. — San Francisco Bulletin. 

Last night before retiring, I read again, for the third or 
fourth time, that powerful poem ** Ataxia.'* What imagination! 
What realism! It stirred every fibre of my nature, awakened 
every quality and every faculty, and mixed all night with all my 
thoughts and fancies. If a piece of self-revelation, it is awful; 
any way, it is a super-Byronic production — creation. — Addi- 
son P. Russell, Author of ** A Club of One.'' 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

AND OTHER VERSES 

BY 
LOUIS A. ROBERTSON 



Price $1.50, net 



A. M. Robertson, Publisher, San Francisco 



1902 



